


The Line That Ties Me

by OptimisticPessimism



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticPessimism/pseuds/OptimisticPessimism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a day for celebration and new beginnings, but on the eve of this, Agron’s 18th birthday and coming of age, the gods would whisper of darker fates. Fighting to avenge the loved ones lost and to see justice dealt to those that have caused him such suffering, Agron sets out to uncover the truth behind the madness and along the way make friends, foes, and maybe even find a new reason to fight…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Will and Testament

**Author's Note:**

> While an older piece at the time of publishing on Ao3, this chapter marks the first time I ever allowed anyone else to read any of my writing - but I'm forever grateful to the friends who helped me get this into the light of day. I absolutely never expected my first story to eventuate into my most ambitious project, but I'm rather glad it did. It's still in its early days, even after the months it's taken, but it has plenty of places to go - and it will have been to all of them by the end.
> 
> From writing and publishing this chapter (initially on Tumblr, while I waited patiently for my invitation) I have only grown as a writer of, so I view this piece as the beginning of a much larger adventure. I've had, and continue to have, a great time reading and writing in this wonderful community.

It was early fall, a cool wind whistled through the surrounding trees. It was an eerie night, more so as the sky grew darker as dawn would become dusk. The half moon that shone through the blanket of clouds and small fires scattered about the village, where people huddled together for warmth, provide only a dim glow by which to see.

Festivities had reigned throughout the day for Agron had become a man, as was tradition on one’s eighteenth birthday amongst his people. The title of child is stripped from him, replaced with the responsibility and freedom of adulthood. He sat hunched over on a log by a small fire, vacantly tearing at some charred rabbit that had been caught earlier for the day’s feast. He was noticeably tall even when sitting, and possessed a slightly tanned and muscular body from the years of living off of the land, having to hunt and farm to survive. His hair had been cut by his mother earlier that day, much to his chagrin despite many a compliment and proposal.

“Brother, why so glum? Tonight you are a man!” laughs Duro, Agron’s younger brother of two years. “This is just the beginning you know; you can’t be beat by it yet.”

Duro had always been much more light-hearted, oft to his detriment. Before his passing years before, he would be scolded by his father time and again lest he learn to listen and study. The loss of a parent had straightened him out some as the fragility of life became apparent, but he ultimately was who he was. To Duro, life was a delicate thing to treasure and enjoy. His father’s teachings lay buried deep, but mostly he didn’t seem to realise the risk that life could prove to be.

“Duro... How many times must you be told, life is not always as simple as your simple little mind makes it out to be.” Argon replied playfully, yet as he looked up to his brother who now sat beside him, his deep green eyes held a more serious note.

“Hey! I’m not simple! You take that back, I don’t wanna have to hurt you!” Feigning insult, Duro backed away, a fake hurt blazing in his brown eyes. He loosely swept back his dreadlocked hair out of his face, now longer than that of his brother’s, as he sat back down and they both sighed heavily.

“Look,” Duro said, adapting Agron’s grim tone; a rare display, “you’ve got to stop being so serious all the time. Life can be more than misery and woe. You’ll regret not enjoying these years when they finally catch up to you.”

Agron sighed again. “I know, but the opposite can be said of you. Half the reason I worry so is because you don’t. You’re reckless, and these are dangerous times. Just promise me you’ll at least try to be more careful?” laughing he quickly added, “Besides, I’m an adult now. You must respect your elders.”

“Ah-ha! There we go, see? You’re learning already.” He clapped his brother firmly on the back. “But enough of this doom and gloom, remnants of celebration yet linger! Besides, I see Saxa waiting to intervene. Aren’t you lucky? There’s so much to be glum about in life isn’t there?”

Duro rolled his eyes sarcastically, a quality he often shared with his brother, and mumbled under his breath as he walked away. As Agron turned his head to see her, Saxa was already on her way over. He stood to greet her properly, with hug and gentle kiss.

It was no secret that Saxa held deep affections for Agron, especially due to them sharing the same birthday. Their families had always been close and it was cause for much celebration and joy when on the same day both families grew in number. Close childhood friends, Saxa had grown ever more beautiful as the years came and went. Almost as tall as Agron, she was quite tall for a woman, with flowing dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an amorous, perfectly white smile. It was also no secret that despite her obvious affections for his brother, Duro was completely enamoured with her beauty.

“Agron!” she called, as she ran to close the distance, “It’s so good to finally have moments alone, is it not?” A sweet smile crossed her lips.

“It’s always a pleasure Saxa, alone or not... but possibly more when alone.” He smirked, implying more than had ever happened between them as they embraced, and he felt a playful slap land on his firm buttock.

Agron was in no way doubtless when it concerned his feelings towards Saxa. Inseparable as children, they had remained almost as one their whole lives and yet residing in the back of his thoughts was that there would be nothing between them at all if Saxa herself had not fuelled the furnace. As much as he cared for, perhaps even loved Saxa, he felt it wasn’t an equal passion. He was, as were most, aware of his brother’s feelings and would rather they unite and leave him to seek his own desires.

“So we’re the new generation of grown-ups now, huh?” she asked through a proud smile.

“Maybe they’ll even start listening to us.” They both laughed. “But you’re right, I guess we are. It certainly has its perks; we have so many choices open to us now. The roads ahead lay free of obstacle; we have need now only to pick one.”

Saxa’s gaze remained fixed upon Agron for a time after that. While much more similar to Duro in demeanour, it was true what they said about opposites attracting. She could be reckless and playful, rarely passing up any challenge despite the outcome. She was warm hearted enough to not take losses to heart but would strive to improve where she had faulted. It was partly to do with this quality lacking in Duro that decided her heart for her. She had been close to both brothers, but she needed someone to look up to. Contributing to her decision was the frank sincerity of Agron’s character that was so endearing to her, and many others.

She kissed Agron firmly on the lips, which took him a little by surprise, although it did not show. He began to question her motives but was interrupted and the thought became lost to him.

“You’re very wise, did you know?” she asked wryly.

“So I’ve been told. Perhaps yet another quality of my mother’s?” he replied with a bemused smile.

Agron shared many qualities with his mother, including the physical resemblances of their vibrant green eye colour and similar facial features. Also like his mother Agron was sharply attune to things around him, always aware be it other people or events. Little escaped his gaze.

His mother was very well respected among their people and the family was held in high regard as she was known to whisper the words of the gods. They were a superstitious people, for the most part, but all took heed to any mentioning. Agron himself never fully believed, he would much rather place his fate in his own hands. Despite his mother’s connection and his own unfaith, he held immense respect for her nonetheless.

“You don’t have to be a prophetess to be wise,” she jibed, “and besides, I actually believe her. We’ve come to no harm from bandits or ill harvest for many seasons now. It was her pleading that saw us move east all those years ago, and praise the gods that she did for the valleys and plains near the western shore were flooded in the Great Storm.”

“...There’s not really much use arguing with you over this again, is there?”

Saxa laughed, “Honestly, I wouldn’t bother trying.”

Noticing the last rays of the sun falling beyond the horizon, Agron let out a yawn. “Then I won’t, but will instead wish you good night.” He motioned around as the few who had remained to celebrate now drifted into their shelters, heads hanging low with want of sleep.

“It is getting late, isn’t it?” Smiling playfully, she continued, “Perhaps it’s for the best. We should fall with the sun, for we’ll need all the strength we can if we’re to travel all those new paths tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

It was the deepest of night; the only sounds the hooting and howling of native nocturnal wildlife. The wind had significantly risen, the gentle breeze of the day passed switched with a strong gust weaving through the trees, carrying with it distant sounds. The many scattered fires that had burned so strong had been snuffed out.

Time for celebration of Agron and Saxa’s coming of age had long since settled with the people’s slumber, the morning sun to bring with it greater challenge for the pair as they put to action their new title.

It was a peaceful night, yet unrest befell Agron. The new importance of his life weighed heavily on his mind and the thought of Saxa and the guilt for Duro heavily on his heart. He had not seen his brother after their conversation earlier but did hear him, stubbing his toe and yelling at it, as he snuck in long after the fall of night.

Impatient with the lack of sleep he rose, donning his thickest leathers and furs to brave the frigid night air. While no known threat awaited him he was too cautious to leave himself unprotected, especially at night and alone so he instinctively grabbed his sword and fastened it to his belt. Forged of pure steel and bound in treated leather wrappings, the blade had once belonged to his father. He had promised it to Agron long before his passing and it was now the young man’s most valued possession. The edge of the blade had runic letters inscribed down the length of it, but it was not from any language he understood.

The smell of burning embers and residual smoke lingered in the air. He liked being alone at times like these. Not that he would ever wish otherwise, but he always had someone there, so it was a nice respite.

The clouds had moved on, and Agron knew that despite the freezing night air the morning would bring with it cause for bare minimal clothing, a fact he appreciated more in others than the attention it garnered him. Looking got him in no trouble but his fantasies would, particularly if they played true. Saxa was beautiful and charming and he loved her, but she lacked certain... features, and such was the cause of lingering doubt in his mind. He would have to make clear his intentions when she woke with dawn’s light.

He had walked with the wind, the pale glow of the moon lighting the familiar path through the village and into the surrounding woods. With no purpose to guide him he had almost lost track of how far he had come. Staring at the ground in front of him as he went, lost in his thoughts, he had not noticed the change in the air. No longer was there any hooting or howling of beasts or the whistle of the wind. All had been engulfed by an uncontrolled blaze, sweeping swiftly along the lands and through trees, carried by the very wind at his back. It was the smell that pulled him back to sense, of burning pine and smouldering ashes. Panic gripped him. He spun on heel in time to see a blazing fire burn through the woods around him, rapidly growing in size and threat.

It was then that he heard the screams, the shouts for help, the cries of pain and agony and rage. Then came the roars of barbarians, yelling into the night, howling like the wolves that echoed before.

Dodging the roots of trees and the falling branches of those ablaze he drew his sword and ran, as fast as his legs could muster – but it was not fast enough. More tortured shrieks escaped into the night, followed by wild snarls. As he reached the village Agron froze, for it was all that he could will his body to do. Never before had he seen such death. These had not been fighting people. Innocent, defenceless lives had been stolen. Nomadic for the most part, many villagers would come and go. Most of them bore no arms to protect themselves against this kind of threat.

The scene before him slowly unfurled; wild men barring razor teeth and claws of steel, their skin of leather and iron. The many bodies of his friends and relatives lay dead at their feet, bloodied and torn, insides on their outsides. These invaders were men he had not seen before, but he had many a chance to examine them up close.

“I’m gonna rip yer fuckin’ head from yer neck, you filthy cunt!”

That got Agron’s attention.

A brutish man charged at him, wielding axe and shield. He had swarthy skin and mangled black hair, his eyes glazed over in a wild fury. Agron nimbly dodged the barbarian’s swing of his axe, rolling forward and emerging behind his assailant. He turned to strike again, continuing to shout profanities. Agron deflected the blow with his sword and as the larger man recoiled he lunged forward and struck at the man’s stomach, his sword piercing the leather chest piece deeply and spraying blood.

“Do ya think that’ll stop me dead!?” the dark man cried out, laughing, his voice hoarse, “You’re outta your league, boy! I’m gonna gut you like a pig!”

“Come and fucking try it you piece of shit!” Agron yelled back, causing the man to roar in laughter.

“This one’s got some fight in him at least!”

Agron took no more chances. He swung forward in a downward motion. Catching the man off-guard he sliced down his arm.

The wild man yelled out and Agron couldn’t tell if it was in pain or laughter. He thrust again but the other man jumped back and dodged the blow and countered with his shield, bashing it into an unexpected Agron.

“Arrghh, fuck!” was all he could muster as he tumbled to the ground.

“You’re mine now, boy!”

Struggling to get up, the larger man pushed him into the ground with his boot, almost crushing his chest. Agron dropped his sword and put all his effort into trying to free himself.

The man discarded his shield and raised his axe with both hands above his head, ready to cleave a fatal, bloody blow.

“This night is your last!” His arms flexed, about to strike, but within moments his eyes widened in shock and slowly his arms fell to his sides, the axe landing on the ground beside him. The pressure of his foot upon Agron’s chest diminished and blood began weeping from his mouth. The man began to turn but collapsed in moments, revealing a dagger embedded in the back of his neck, with a crimson ribbon tied around its hilt marking its owner – Saxa.

“Agron!” came her voice, followed shortly by the source of it, “Thank the gods you’re alive! I thought for sure you to be dead!”

Clutching his bruised chest he slowly rose to his feet, picking up his sword in the process.

“I’m not so easily bested.” He tried to smile, but it soon fell from his face.

“Not when I’m around at least.” She hugged him tightly, but released when he began to flinch. “Oh, sorry. Are you okay? Is anything broken?”

“I don’t... I don’t think so. Hurts like hell though.”

“Not as much as he’s hurting now,” she walked over to the man’s body and removed her trusted dagger, his body twitching as she did so, and tucked it into her belt with its twin. She smiled, which quickly faded, “We must move, there are more of them still.”

“I can fight, you can count on me. But I have to find my mother, where is she? Have you seen her, or Duro?” Panic began to set in again, which escalated when he saw the anguish on her face. “Oh God... Please, no...”

Saxa shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I haven’t seen your family.” The way she spoke the words, I haven’t seen your family...

“Oh god, Saxa. Your parents..?”

“Dead. Both of them... They died to save me. Two men had me trapped, and they... they were going to...” Tears ran down her face as her voice broke and she choked up.

Agron reached out for her, and despite his injuries held her as tightly as he could. He had never seen Saxa, always so determined and strong, so defeated. Her cheeks damp from tears, she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing.

“We will avenge them. We will bring to light what justice can be brought from this madness.” He kissed her check and wiped away the tears. “We will have time to mourn soon enough, but now we must go.”

Saxa nodded her head and dried her tears. She and Agron armed themselves, readying for the brutality of many fights to come.

 

* * *

 

It became a blur as they fought through three men on the way to his family’s cabin. It never got any easier, taking a life, but it was nothing the pair of them had never been exposed to, although never to this extent. Bandits were an infrequent occurrence once – the memory of their attacks leaving unfillable cracks in many people’s lives. The familiar sounds of battle and bloodshed were all around them, the fire raging ever on consuming all in its path. The fire had been started not far from the few huts and hovels erected in the village and many now lay smouldering on the ground – belongings and owners having gone down with some of them. Saxa’s family’s home was among the ruins.

They soon reached Agron’s home, relatively unscathed. The door was ajar.

“Mother! Duro! Are you here!?” Agron called out in desperation as he entered the small structure. The place was trashed, their few belongings lay broken and thrown about.

“Is that blood?” Saxa exclaimed, pointing to the ground. He looked to the floor, stained a deep red in a random splatter.

He leant down to get a closer look. “Saxa this is fresh blood, it’s warm to the touch...” He looked up at her, his eyes on the brink of overflowing with emotion.

“Don’t think that! Don’t, not yet. We will find them.” She placed a steady, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

As he rose they heard a crash in the next room and ran to investigate. He told Saxa to stay and keep guard, which she respectfully ignored.

“Mother!?” he called out again as he entered the room; the kitchen. There, hunched on the floor clutching her left side lay his mother. “Mother! Oh by the gods, you’re alive!”

“Agron..? Is that really you? Oh you are a sight! I heard a voice and I thought more had come.” She winced in pain as he helped her to her feet. Her shirt was stained a deep crimson.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

She motioned to the opposite doorway, where a man with dark skin like the one he had fought moments early laid dead, a large knife lodged in his chest. Blood was slowly seeping onto the floor and Saxa knelt down to investigate him.

“It’s just a flesh wound dear, don’t worry about me. He fares far worse.” Her good humour in light of events was refreshing, but was that not the role of a parent, to comfort their children in grave times?

“Where did these wild men come from? Did you not foresee this?” Agron’s voice was desperate, his anger at his mother directed through her to the gods.

Saxa’s voice came first. “Agron, this man... the brand on his skin here, below his neck. I’ve only seen it once before. Come, look.” The two of them came to the dead man. Agron’s mother gasped and shrunk back at the image under the man’s shirt. Agron himself just looked puzzled. He’d seen the image before, of a serpent – a cobra, with its tail coiled underneath, but it was years ago and he could scarcely place it in the heat of the moment.

“It can’t be,” came his mother’s voice, trembling, “No, it all makes sense.”

“Mother what is it? What do you know?” Agron asked, standing away from the body. Saxa excused herself from the room, her eyes not meeting the others’.

“You asked me if the gods spoke to me. They did, yes... but vaguely, and in vision. Not two nights past.” She looked ill, and it clearly pained her to speak the words aloud. “I could not decipher their meaning; it made no sense to me so I spoke of it to no one. But now it becomes clear... I should have known. Look what I have done!” She motioned around; the dead body in the doorway, the fire burning outside, the screams and roars... “I could have stopped this, I should have told someone, done something! I have this gift and I’ve ignored it to the extent of everyone’s death!”

“Calm yourself, please! There is nothing anyone could have done to stop them, they are too great in number and well equipped. Even if we all were warriors we would fare the same.” To speak the words hurt him, as the reality sunk in. They were to die this night, all of them. They were no match.

“Agron... You’ve got to run. Find your brother and -” her words were cut short as a scream from the front of the house pierced the night.

“Saxa!” Agron drew his sword, and flew from the room.

“Agron, wait!” his mother called after him, but he was gone. She ran to the body and pulled the knife from his chest, which caused a great splash of blood to erupt. She chased after her eldest son.

Saxa lay motionless on the floor, her daggers fallen by her side. He scanned the room quickly and found no one. He rushed to her side and held her up. She was still breathing, just unconscious. Then he heard footsteps behind him.

“Agron look out!” came the shrill voice of his mother. He turned quickly to see a small but strong man with paler skin then before wielding a short sword, dressed all in black. His intent was Agron’s life, but the interruption of his mother caused for a change of plan.

As if in slow motion, the man spun around to a barely defended old woman. There was no mercy for her, for any of them. The man lashed out with his fist, knocking the knife easily from her grasp. She screeched in shock, the man moved swiftly and with deft purpose.

Agron had only drawn his sword and gotten to his feet by this stage, and the distance was closing slowly between them. Only metres away he watched helplessly as the assassin plunged his blade into his mother’s stomach, again and again. With each thrust of the blade she wailed, the sound of a howling banshee escaping her lips. It’s a sound no one wants to ever hear erupt from a loved one. It’s a sound that would haunt your dreams. He held her in such high regard, his mother. She was invincible. No harm could possibly come to her. The gods themselves took note of her worth, yet that was apparently not even enough.

She crumpled in a heap to the ground, moaning in agony – life escaping her. As he turned to face his initial target he soon found he wasted too much time on the woman. He turned into Agron’s sword, a ferocious onslaught. The assailant fell back, dropping his blade and clutching his chest. He tripped on a table in his retreat and fell to the floor. Agron screamed, rage and tears burning in his eyes. Driven by blind fury he hacked at the man. Blood sprayed the walls and painted himself the colour of death. Still squirming in a vain attempt to flee, Agron thrust deeply into the man’s body, piercing his very heart ending his life. His eyes flickered shut as life twitched from his limbs.

“Mother! Oh my god, mother...” Agron collapsed next to her. She laid motionless now except for the sharp, short breaths and flickering eyes. Blood seeped out of her wounds, pooling around the pair.

“Agron,” she coughed, and more blood sputtered from her mouth, “You have to find... find Duro.” She gasped for breathe, her chest barely rising with the intake.

“Mother please, don’t leave me. I need you!” Agron pleaded with her, which he knew to be futile. He cursed the gods for allowing any of this to happen. Why would they guard us in way of prophecy only to undo all they had done by the malice of man?

“You don’t n-need me. You’re a man now... Protect him, p-please. Duro... Promise me. He’s all... he’s all you have left... Don’t mourn f-for me... too much. You m-must flee this place. Farewell, my darling son...” A long, last sigh escaped her mouth, a single tear running down her cheek as her eyes closed shut, never to reopen. The young man wept into the night at the loss of his mother, the most important person in his life now lay dead in his arms. He choked back his tears and whispered a quiet prayer to the gods, in respect of his mother.

 

* * *

 

Almost an hour had passed before Saxa regained consciousness, always under the watchful eye of Agron. In that time though he had dignified his mother’s corpse as best he could, fetching spare linen cloths and straw to fashion a makeshift casket. He had wiped the blood from her face and seemed to now be at peace, despite her gruesome exit from life. The bloody mess of the two bodies of the intruders had been thrown in the field with the rest; Agron’s vain but honourable attempt to remove the taint from his family home. He had begun to collect what supplies he could from his home when Saxa stirred.

“Ugh... What happened?” she groaned, positioning herself upright. “Where is he? He came out of nowhere and –” She saw the look upon Agron’s face, broken and tormented. It took her all of a moment to look around and absorb the horror of it all before the guilt sunk in.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I could have helped. I let down my guard for a second...” Her eyes met his, full of regret, and they pleaded with him for forgiveness.

“Don’t blame yourself. You’re least of all at fault.” His voice was acidic, his gaze melting through walls to where the dead men lay.

“We will avenge her Agron,” Saxa tried to comfort him, “We’ll avenge all of them, all those who have fallen.” Her words struck a chord within him, and he realised that he was not alone in loss and grievance. He nodded, and they rose to their feet.

“They must seek a bloody death, taking from us what they have.” declared Agron, eyes intent upon his mother’s corpse.

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Agron and Saxa spun around, disbelief written all over their faces.

“Duro! Is that really you?” cried Agron. Almost flying, he ran to his brother’s side. “What happened to you, you’re covered in blood?” Duro glanced down at himself, shirt torn and drenched with blood.

“Only some of it’s mine, don’t worry. There’re a few less of those fuckers to deal with though.” His smile soon faded as his eyes came to the covered heap on the far side of the room.

“Please tell me that isn’t... Oh god, I was too late.” He looked to Agron, his eyes scouring for answers. “I hope you made him pay, brother.”

“I did, you must have walked past what was left coming here.” He motioned outside the door.

“They all must pay in kind,” snarled Duro, “But we might need some supplies.”

“I’ve already started on that front, but there’s more to pack.” Agron said as he grabbed a sack full of food and pouches of water from the corner.

Duro walked to one of the side rooms and rustled through the draws and cupboards, packing things into packs. Saxa took to task as well, collecting necessary items for what would seem a long journey.

The three of them made to leave, each carrying their share of supplies. Agron had taken what money his family had saved up from travelling caravans and distributed the small amount between the three of them. They stepped outside the brothers’ home and noticed that the sun had begun to rise. Few bandits lingered with the coming dawn, continuing to pillage, as most who yet lived fled away with the night. The sky was an apt deep red, only just beginning to peek above the charred trees and land. Much death lay before them, with dozens of bodies young and old, friend and foe – their blood indiscriminately soaking into the ground.


	2. Friend or Foe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a day for celebration and new beginnings, but on the eve of this, Agron’s 18th birthday and coming of age, the gods would whisper of darker fates. Fighting to avenge the loved ones lost and to see justice dealt to those that have caused him such suffering, Agron sets out to uncover the truth behind the madness and along the way make friends, foes, and maybe even find a new reason to fight…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having rewritten a fairly large chunk of this chapter prior or publication, it was easy to be a little bit undecided about it. Ultimately though, it has grown on me and it's opened up channels for varying directions it could take. So I'm happy with it now and I hope you are as well.

Fleeing the horrid scene that befell them the previous night, this would be the first time Agron, Duro, and Saxa had stopped since their village had been attacked. The place that they had called home for so many years now lay in ruins, the smoke still funnelling into the sky from the charred lands far in the north.

The trio had travelled south in hot pursuit of the bandits retreating from their village, fighting the few who forfeited their lives by lingering behind to slow them down. Since then they had been chasing shadows. Following an overgrown trail into the southern woods they had become lost in the ancient forest, the trail having long grown cold.

 “We’re lost, aren’t we?” moaned Saxa, stating more of a fact than complaining.

“We’re not lost,” replied Agron trying hard to believe his own words, “we’re just sidetracked is all.”

“No, we’re very much lost big brother. I can almost guarantee I’ve walked past this exact tree twice already.” With that Duro plumped down on the cool ground and leaned against it, taking a long swig from his waterskin.

Agron rolled his eyes. “Okay, I admit it – we’re lost. But come on Duro, what are you doing? We have to keep going if we’re ever going to find the path again.”

“Who’s to say there even is a path Agron? I don’t know anyone who’s ever travelled this far south, let alone venture willingly into these woods. We’ve been walking around for hours and the day is nearly gone. I actually can’t believe I agree with your brother about this. No offense.” She sat next to Duro and pinched his cheeks.

Agron sighed in surrender and sat down as well.

“It’s a lost cause, isn’t it?” His question received the expected ‘what have we been telling you?’ expression. “Well I don’t see you two coming up with any better ideas!”

“How about this then – it’ll be nightfall soon, and with that will come a cold we scarcely know. Unless you have some magical fire-conjuring skills I don’t know about then we might need to make one the old fashioned way.” He looked at Saxa who was hiding her laughter behind her hand and winking at the younger brother.

Agron didn’t like it when Duro was right, especially when it meant he was wrong, and above all when he was a smart ass about it. Alas, his brother’s words carried truth and Agron was just being stubborn. The days and nights grew colder the further south you went, this he knew. While by no means were they used to a humid, tropical climate, the southern regions became frigid, often experiencing snowfall as the winter months crept in.

“Okay, fine. You seem to know what you’re doing so you can go and get some firewood. I’ll stay here and try to find a bit of flat ground to set up camp.”

“Hah! Now we’re cooking!” cheered Duro, who swiftly dropped his things and went off to collect dried wood for a fire.

Agron rolled his eyes at his brother as he paraded away. He’d begun unpacking his gear and rolling out his bedroll when Saxa approached.

“Agron, I’m going to refill our waterskins. I saw a small stream just back that way a bit. Can I have yours too?” She spoke in a quiet voice as though she had insulted him earlier, on top of a feeling hidden deeper in her heart.

“Oh, yeah that’d be great. Thanks Saxa.” He smiled his perfect smile – dimples and all, reassuring her that there was no bad blood. She knew deep down the brothers loved each other more than anything, after all she’d grown up with them and knew them almost as well as they did themselves. She often thought they considered her on equal standing, the thought of being mere sister churning her stomach.

She smiled back, trying to assure herself that the thoughts on her mind were just her imaginings. “Thanks, I won’t be long.”

“Hey Saxa,” he called after her, “Can I ask you something?” Letters began forming words in his mind. He had to tell her eventually that he didn’t feel for her the same we she did him, and he figured there was never going to be a  _good_  time to tell her.

“Agron...” He met her eyes and they looked as though she was fighting back her own questions. “What is it?”

“Uh, oh nothing. Just... be careful.” Like many times before, he faulted. She smiled weakly and nodded, walking away.

 

* * *

 

_You’ve got to run. Find your brother and-_

_..._

_Agron look out!_

_..._

_Mother!_

_..._

_Agron._

_..._

_Don’t mourn for me..._

_..._

_Agron... Agron..._

_..._

“Agron!”

Agron woke up screaming and in a thick sweat. Duro hovered over him clutching his shoulders, apparently responsible for his rouse. He thrashed under the restraint of his brother, reaching at his waist where his sword should be fastened. Looking around frantically when it wasn’t there his mind slowly caught up to what was happening.

“Agron, get a grip. It’s just a bad dream.”

Duro released his hold on his brother, allowing him to sit up as he came to. Saxa came to his side with water, urging him to drink.

“Ugh... What happened?” Agron moaned, taking the water and downing it hungrily.

“You were having a bad dream, that’s all.” Duro told him again, the lie plain on his face.

“No. There’s a difference between dreams and reality, brother.”

Duro looked away as his words became useless. Part of him had wished he had been there when his mother had passed, more so that he could protect her or even trade places with her in the afterlife, but it was pointless to dwell on the thought, this much he knew.

“How long until morning do you think Saxa?” Agron asked, fastening his boots and pulling on a fur cloak.

“Well, in between restless sleep and the moon in the sky I’d say we still have some hours before sunrise. Why? Where are you going?” She added, piecing together his intentions.

“Nowhere far, I just need to clear my mind.”

“Agron are you mad!?” Duro asked, getting up after his brother. “You wish to venture out in these woods alone? What if those bandits are still around or have come back? You’re easy pickings for them by yourself.”

“I agree with your brother Agron, don’t be foolish. I know you’re upset – we all are, but please be reasonable.”

“Reason is something that seems to be lacking of late. Look, I’ll be fine. If I’m not back soon  _then_  you’re allowed to freak out okay? I’m sorry. I just really need to be alone for a while.”

Agron looked glum, the weight of everything visible in his eyes. It had been a trying day for all of them but Agron was taking it particularly badly. Saxa tried to stop him as he left but Duro held her back, understanding his brother’s needs – even if he did disagree. Neither Saxa nor Duro would get any more rest this night so they decided to collect their equipment and pack up their small camp.

Agron had been honest when he said he wasn’t going far. He found a fallen tree not too far away, near the stream that Saxa had refilled their water supply earlier by the sound of nearby running water. The rotting remains of the tree moaned under his weight, so he opted instead to sit on the ground and lean against it.

The glow from the camp’s fire was visible through the trees and underbrush, and his companion’s voices carried quietly and indistinctly on the still, early-morning air.

He sat crumpled into himself as much as he leant against the dilapidated tree, feeling he was not faring much better. Legs bent, he rested his forehead on his arms, crossed over his knees.

The familiar sounds of nature comforted him somewhat, the owls high in the trees above almost speaking his language and the odd breathe of wind calling his name. He truly was at home in the wilds. Although often solitary he was more than able to defend and fend for himself and he couldn’t imagine life in the rush of busy city life. Indeed, he had never visited his country’s capital, nor had his parents except for the rare occasion, and he wasn’t soon going to; it sat laying in wait much farther east than they had come.

His mind was a soft jelly, his thoughts moulding it into creating a decisive course of action. Would it be that this leadership fell not upon Agron, he would be far happier. Saxa was anything but mentally dull and Agron was almost sure that the message had been sent and received but it was still going to be a conversation they would have to have, the question yet remained of when. Duro would follow him to the ends of the earth, fighting alongside his brother and striking fear into the hearts of their enemies until his last breaths escaped him. In truth, Agron had little idea what he was doing or was going to do.

Fear of worrying the others any more prompted him to his feet, slowly moving one foot in front of the other. As he headed back he heard an unnatural rustling ahead of him, in way of his encampment. He crouched down and froze, ears pricked up like a hound listening for the slightest sound. The noise came again, to the left and right now but still in front of him. Further in the distance Duro and Saxa could faintly be heard still chatting to themselves, unaware that they were not alone. The intruders’ intent could be but one thing. You don’t sneak into welcoming arms after all.

Following the righter-most sound he soon caught up to the target – a small man, clad in all dark clothes. His face was concealed in shadows but his masculinity was plain enough. He had stopped moving forward and now hid low in the shrubbery not twenty paces from Duro and Saxa, both now visible a short distance away sitting and sipping on water, and was apparently waiting on a command from someone else in his party. The manoeuvre was simple yet effective – flank the enemy from all sides. There would be no retreat, only bloodshed; whose, however, would soon be determined. Figuring there would be more than these three he hoped the others would be quick enough on their feet and sharp enough to react in time considering the uneven odds.

It was now or never. Agron crept up behind the man, his features becoming clearer as the distance closed. He had short, wild hair and a scruffy face. A scar marred the left-hand side of his face and the pale moonlight pooled in dark brown eyes. The man was by no means unattractive, and it was almost a shame that he would have to kill him, but it was best not to let such thoughts into one’s mind at times like this.

Silently drawing his sword, moving further to the right as to avoid the man’s ever scanning gaze, Agron was upon him in a soundless flurry. The man was caught completely unawares and fell in a single strike. Agron cupped his mouth muffling his screams as he looked down in horror at the sword through his spleen. Blood streamed from the man’s mouth over Agron’s hand as he withdrew his blade and gently laid the body down on the ground as the last moments of life left him.

Unnoticed by his victim, Agron had not been so lucky with everyone else. The element of surprise had been spent and Agron barely had the seconds necessary to compose himself after an arrow whistled through the darkness scarcely missing him before another assailant was upon him.

This time it was a woman, albeit a gargantuan one. Bigger than himself and the man he had just slain, she was a force of nature all her own. Wary of the archer lurking close by, it was a deadly dance of staying close enough to disallow a clear shot to himself while still weaving between blows of the amazon’s great sword; of whom was more than skilled.

Sounds of fighting could be heard not far away, the cries of Saxa and Duro as they fought coming through clearly. He had to get to them as quickly as possible. Overwhelmed by the power behind her blows Agron stopped defending and took to the offence, taking her by surprise. Dodging a strike after being knocked back, he quickly spun to the side of her and swung his blade at the back of her legs. Slicing through the unprotected flesh of her calves she let a throaty wail out into the night as she collapsed to her knees, dropping her blade. Following the motion through Agron turned again to face the woman. Still howling in pain, fallen on hands and knees he struck down at a lowered neck and cleaved head from shoulder, silencing her forever.

The shadowy figure with the bow couldn’t be found in his haste so Agron ran towards the camp, finding the others outnumbered two to one. Defending each other back-to-back, Duro and Saxa looked as though they were on their last legs, tired and sluggish from the onslaught of their attackers.

Under better circumstances the pair would be a true force to be reckoned with. Complimenting each other wonderfully they could circle around foes and protect one another almost seamlessly, with Saxa duel-wielding her daggers effectively in close combat and Duro brandishing his short spear to keep enemies at a fair distance they were a strong duo. Duro in particular favoured the time spent sparring or competing with Saxa, granted possibly for more than one reason, but he also respected her immensely as a fighter.

Although a smaller build than most present due to his age, Duro still held his own in combat. The thrusts and swings formed from his slighter body were still packed with enough power to rival that of any capable warrior. His smaller size meant greater swiftness too, an effective advantage for his favoured fighting style which often resulted in his foes’ demise.

“Saxa, move!” Agron yelled as he made his way into the fray.

Saxa looked quickly towards the source of the voice and her eyes widened before she rolled out of the way as she made sense of the command.

Seizing an opportunity Agron jumped to where Saxa had stood brandishing his sword, swinging it widely in the same direction slashing it through a man’s torso as he raised his buckler too slowly, sadly for him his blood ended up wiping away the confusion in his eyes.

“Nice of you to finally join us brother!” Duro cheered, stabbing at yet missing the upper body of the woman at his front. “What took you so long!?”

The fighting continued, Saxa rejoining them in an instant. “Well you’ll have two less to worry about thanks to my absence, brother!”

“We still have four to go so let’s hold off on the gloating until there’s none to worry about!” shouted Saxa, dodging and weaving around to slash the neck of an axe-wielding female. “Sorry, make that three!” she added, joining in on the brothers’ cheer.

Duro charged at his attacker, a woman older and larger than himself also wielding a spear. Larger than his own, he had to get closer to her to even strike – something that proves difficult when you don’t want to get killed. Ducking and dodging the woman’s thrusts he caught her off guard when in her recoil he rushed forward and stuck his spear into the earth, using the leverage gained to push off the ground and almost fling himself at her. Astonished the woman yelled out, falling backwards under the force behind his weight. Going for a more straightforward and brutal victory Duro disarmed her and sat kneeling atop her chest, pushing down hard and grappling for her throat. She choked in pain and terror as cracks resounded from her chest, and clawed and scratched desperately at his arms; her own too short to reach Duro’s face. Hands around her throat like a vice, her attempts to free herself were futile as the more restraint she provided the more he pushed down and the tighter his hold on her became. Her body began to convulse as her eyes rolled back to reveal the whites, resulting in more loud cracks resounding from beneath him. Drawing in no oxygen her body started shutting down. The convulsions lessened as she began to go limp, a thick bloody froth escaping her open mouth, running down her chin and covering Duro’s hands – yet even then he did not relent. Not until he himself let out a wild scream as an arrow pierced his flesh, just below his left shoulder. He released the woman and fell beside her, his own face conveying a similar expression of tortured agony.

Hearing his cries the others turned to him in a spare glance, having continued their own fights while Duro remained transfixed upon his prey. Noticing his situation Saxa had hurled one of her daggers at a man as he fled into the woods, lodged in his spine it killed him almost instantly. Quickly retrieving it she and Agron now both fought a person each, trying to dispatch their targets as hastily as possible.

It took them both a while to notice in their peripheral that arrows were whizzing past them now as well, missing them as they darted about. In Realising this Agron grabbed his opponent by the shoulders and held him so closely he could feel the other man’s hot breath on his face. Locking the man’s arms to his sides he turned on the spot in time to catch an arrow in his back. In this moment he caught sight of the archer for the first time, hidden amongst the trees. He could only just make out the man’s face, the only features visible were his eyes and his smile.

 _He’s smiling? What the fuck?_ Agron thought to himself. The man wore an almost amused expression upon his face, teeth white like his eyes in the darkness. The man lowered his bow and stood there, leaning upon it as if waiting for a greeting.

In a single swift motion Agron knocked the man clutching at him to the ground. Forcing him to his knees he stood behind the man and pulled his hair, shifting his gaze towards that of his own; their eyes meeting each others’ in his final moments. With that Agron brought his sword to the man’s throat, slicing it open as a glorious surge of blood erupted from the laceration. Releasing his grip on the man’s head he let him crumple into the dirt as he raced towards his brother.

Saxa had remained locked in combat with her opponent, a woman of equal skill with a blade, but at the defeat of her comrades had yielded to her, begging for mercy.

“Please, I surrender!” she begged, throwing her sword to the side. “No amount of coin is worth my head!”

“I can agree with you on that, but I’ll take my fucking chances!” With deadly proficiency, Saxa hacked at the woman, delivering her into the afterlife. Once the body fell she charged at the archer, taking him completely by surprise by tackling him to the ground with full force.

 

* * *

 

“Am I alright?” Duro reiterated, “What the fuck do you think? Have you ever been shot before? It’s really fucking shit – so no, I’m not alright!”

“Well I’m glad you haven’t let it get to you too much, that’s very big of you brother.” Agron smirked at him, relishing the moment probably much more than he should be all things considered.

“Oh piss off would you. If you’re going to hang around then at least get this bastard out of me!”

Agron stopped smiling and looked instead towards the one responsible for his brother’s predicament. Slightly battered and bruised from Saxa’s pummelling fists, he now sported what would become a very ugly black eye – that is if he lived to see the dawn.

Meeting no resistance, Saxa had disarmed and restrained the man while Agron tended to his brother. The man’s superior leather armour with detailed patterns and tempered steel bracers and accents on the elbows and shoulders told her that he was either well off or well paid. His small arsenal of two concealed daggers, a short sword, and his bow and arrows told her that he was no novice either, his entire getup hinting at the opposite.

“Okay, fine. Just hold still, I’ll pull it out. I can’t imagine this will be painless so brace yourself.” Fortunately the arrow had missed major blood supplies and vital organs so it was just a matter of taking it out. Agron gripped the arrow, yet even the slightest pressure caused Duro to howl in pain. It wasn’t going to be an easy task.

“I would stop now if I were you, before you cause any real damage.”

Agron looked once again at the man, tied up under Saxa’s watchful eye. He spoke with a subtle accent that he couldn’t accurately place. Agron found it curious that the man had apparently surrendered in the first place and then chosen not speak until offering a warning. He stood up and walked over to the man, for the first time truly seeing him.

He sat there in bonds, wrists and ankles tied together behind his back and on outstretched legs, respectively. His caramel skin glistened in the firelight, which collected in the deep pools of his honey-brown eyes. His hair was as black as the night surrounding them flowing freely around his head at shoulder length, loose strands falling towards his face, catching in his succulent lips as he spoke – which was itself another beauteous marvel of the stranger’s.

Agron had walked over to this man with a genuine curiosity and wonder – about the man himself and his intentions, yet by some twist of fate he found himself having to almost pick up his jaw off of the ground and wipe the drool from his chin. Quite sure that he had actually never seen someone as beautiful as him before in his life, he was taken aback.

As Agron stepped within visible range, a small smile crossed the man’s lips; one which Agron couldn’t help but return.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, have we?”

“No I don’t believe we have.” Agron eventually stammered out.

“Well I’ll start then shall I?” Almost laughing at Agron being caught so off-guard, he continued, “My name is Nasir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m sure it will be. I’m Agron,” he replied, picking up his jaw once again.

Amazed at his brother’s priorities, Duro coughed loudly and raised his voice. “Yes and Saxa’s the one who took you out before and I’m Agron’s brother Duro, who you shot an arrow into – just something I’d like to remind everyone about! Perhaps now that we’re all friends we can fucking do something about that, hm? Is that alright by everyone or would you prefer I just start bleeding out all over the place!?”

Snapping back into reality Agron recovered his senses, although not quite letting go of lingering thoughts.

“Agron, he’s right. Don’t pull that arrow out of him.” Saxa walked over to him, speaking for the first time in what felt like a long time. In her hand she carried one of Nasir’s arrows, the meaning behind her words becoming clear once she handed it to him.

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen an arrow like this before.” Agron held the tip of the arrow closer to examine it. Made of a dark metal, it had three large blades protruding from the point. In between these were three smaller, jagged blades designed to tear the flesh of the victim.

“Yeah, they’re pretty gnarly aren’t they? Almost barbaric – even for me!” Nasir laughed, but only to himself. The others were more worried about Duro’s condition and how to go about removing it from him. “Oh, sorry, that was insensitive.” He called out an apology to Duro who sat only a short distance away, but having made enough sense of the situation replied only with two choice fingers pointed towards the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and constructive criticisms are always welcome and greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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